


The Devil in the West

by Devanelle



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devanelle/pseuds/Devanelle
Summary: Jayne Evans is not a good person, this is the only absolute she knows about herself. Her actions earned her a shallow grave and a head full of lead, and if she has any hope of escaping her past she'll need to remember it first. There's a lot of wasteland between her and the only man that might have the answers she needs.





	The Devil in the West

He took a long drag off his cigarette, drawing the smoke into his lungs reveling in the soft burn before exhaling, the smoke barely a wisp. The rhythmic chck-shhh of Jessup digging the grave was about the only sound in the damn graveyard. It was a luxury really, the grave that is. Most finks stupid or unlucky enough to die out in the desert would be cazador shit by morning. The way Beny figured, he was doing her a favor.

 Still, It was a shame to waste a face that pretty. If she’d turned up in New Vegas a week ago he could see himself blowing half the bank trying to get her up to his room, and a woman like that would settle for no less than half. She was the kind of woman he could see himself getting into some _real_ trouble with. But Benny had big plans and he wasn’t gonna let some skirt get in the way of that.

 It was probably for the best, McMurphy swore he recognized her off some NCR Wanted list. Said she had a mean streak as wide as the Mojave and double the death toll. If the circumstances than brought her to him were any clue, she was dangerous, and she sure as shit wasn’t a courier.

 “Looks like someone’s waking up.” Jessup said stepping back from the grave. It wasn’t ideal, but it was deep enough. The body across from him shifted as she sat up gracelessly.

 Her eyes widened as she looked around and realization dawned on her. Dark eyes fixed themselves on his and he took a breath to steady himself. This wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done, hell it barely made his week. McMurphy was getting impatient and Benny raised his hand to quiet him.

 Benny crushed the cigarette under his heel. “Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain’t a fink, dig?” He pulled Maria from the pocket inside his jacket and checked the chamber. He turned to address the woman now. “From where you’re sitting this must look like an eighteen karat run of bad luck.” He’d always believed in doing everything with style, even executions. That’s what set him apart from  the rest of the wasteland scum.

 He leveled the gun at her head.

 Her face twisted into raw _ugly_ anger, and she spat in his direction. Her lips curled into a snarl and she shot him a look that promised if she survived this, he sure as hell wouldn’t for much longer.

 So he pulled the trigger.

  


* * *

 

She bolted upright, a sound burbled out of her caught somewhere between a scream and a gasp. Pain lanced down her throat like someone shove a red hot fire poker down it. Her legs were caught, something wound tightly around them threatening to pull her back under into the darkness. She lunged forward stumbling barefoot onto cracked tile. Almost immediately her vision swam blurring everything together and she reached out to catch herself on the figure in front of her. Instead her hand came down through open air and she fell.

 “Easy there!” He said catching her firmly by the arm and pushing her back so she sat on the edge of the cot. Her legs were still tangled in the damp blanket and a bead of sweat dripped down her spine. She looked up warily at the old man. He looked harmless enough, white hair stood out against his mostly bald head, his skin was dark from years spent toiling under the sun. His forehead wrinkled in worry. “I mighta strapped you down if I’d known you’d try to get up so quickly.”

 She started looking herself over while the old man watched. She sat in nothing more than her dirty underwear. She was half tempted to stick his eyes out, but his gaze was cool and clinical, never lingering far from her face.  She made a mental checklist of all the injuries, she was covered in all sorts of small cuts and scrapes with a dime sized lump of scar tissue around the right side of her belly. She recognised it as a bullet hole long healed. Aside from the aching in her skull she seemed no worse for wear.

 “Take a moment to get your bearings, this ain’t the sort of thing you wanna rush.” The old man said.

 She glanced around the room. An IV drip was still attached to her left arm, it was a miracle she hadn’t pulled it out during her earlier mishap. She sat on a medical cot in a space converted into an exam room. Ancient floral wallpaper decorated the wall, badly peeling in more places than not. Dust motes floated in the light beams drifting in from the muddy windows. It was quiet.

 “Do you know why you’re here? Can you tell me what happened?”

 She blinked at him. She thought back before she woke up but it was all foggy, voices and images blurring together. When she reached out to tug on a memory it vanished, leaving only a wispy bit of smoke to remind her it had been there at all. She furrowed her brows. “I can’t remember.” She tried again only chasing her memories further out of grasp. “I can’t remember anything.” she said panic rising in her chest.

 “I was worried about this, retrograde amnesia is a common side effect from injuries like this. Let's try and assess the damage. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?”

 She reached into her mind again, grasping at anything. “Jayne.” She croaked out. She wasn’t sure at first but the moment it crossed her lips she knew it was as true a part of her as her right hand. _Evans._ She almost added, but something stayed her tongue.

 “Hm, suits you. I’m Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings.” She nodded her head in response, looking around the room for her things. Even amnesiacs had to have clothes, right?

 “I’m glad to see that bullet didn’t knock your manners loose.” Doc Mitchell said brusquely.

 His response shook all other thoughts loose. “I was shot?” She sputtered.

 “And not for the first time from the looks of it.” He said. “Though I doubt you make a habit of getting shot in the head.”

  _In the head_ , it was a miracle she was alive, or at the very least not a drooling idiot.  A shot to the head was not the sort of thing you usually woke up from. “How long was I unconscious?” She asked.

 “Coming up on three days now. Not too bad all things considered.” He reached under his chair and pressed a dirty mirror into her hand. “Here. Now, I take pride in my needlework but I had to go rootin’ around in your head to get all the bits of lead out. Let’s make sure I put everything back where it belongs.”

 Jayne took the mirror and raised it. Her head was wrapped in a clean white bandage, no doubt hiding a gnarly scar. Her lungs tightened as she angled the mirror again to look at her face dead on. The longer she looked the more her features solidified in her mind as belonging to her. _Yes of course. That’s what I look like._ Her eyes were dark, large, and hooded; shaped in a way that usually prompted pre-war robots to label her a ‘dirty commie bastard’ before attacking.

 She knew this about the world, but she couldn’t dredge up a single thought about who she was as a person. A name was not much to go on. Jayne passed the mirror back to Doc Mitchell slowly, her fingers lingering on the handle a beat longer than entirely necessary forcing him to pry it from her grasp.

 Doc Mitchell went through the motions of making sure she was okay, made her test herself on the Vig-O-Matic Vigor Tester, which labelled her as a ‘Dough Baby’ in strength, but a regular ‘ol ‘Leprechaun’s foot’ in luck. He raised his brows in appreciation, “With luck like that I’m surprised them bullets didn’t turn right around and climb back into that gun.”

 She grunted in response, she sure as hell didn’t feel lucky.  He also made her sit through some quack routine where she looked at ink stains and told him what she saw - _ink, ink, ink, Hey! That one looks like the birthmark I have on my_ \- Apparently they were supposed to tell him if there was anything wrong with her. From the slight downturn of the corners of his mouth she knew he wasn’t entirely satisfied with his findings. He sighed and sat back in his chair setting the clipboard back on the table beside him, “Well, that’s all she wrote.” He ran a hand over his balding head and squinted at her in the gloom.

 “We best get you dressed.”

 

* * *

 

Most of Jayne’s things were ruined or gone. She had a holster, but no gun, and her clothes had been completely blood soaked (mostly her own). Doc Mitchell was kind enough to offer her some of his late wife’s things to wear, and by things he meant a ratty old vault suit. She refused on principle, there was no way in hell she was going out there like a big blue and yellow target. Everyone knew vaulties were inexperienced and usually ripe for the picking. She’d get robbed the second she was clear of the town. When the good doctor realized she really would rather strike off in her birthday suit than the vault suit, he relented. He brought her a stack of neatly folded clothes, proof he’d been holding out on her.

 The pants were a little short in the legs, and the shirt loose across her chest, but Jayne felt at ease in a cotton button down and road leathers. Doc Mitchell even offered her a pipboy, which she again refused. Nothing good came out of Vault-Tec. God only knows was bizarre and twisted way the device was wired to backfire. After all, who hadn’t heard the horror stories about what really went on in those vaults? Maybe they were just stories to keep scavvers away, but Jayne wasn’t risking it.

 “What are your plans once you get out there?” Doc Mitchell asked as she rolled her left sleeve up. She paused, her fingers resting on the bunched fabric. Fuck. She didn’t have a plan, and how could she? “You got friends? Family that might be looking for you?”

 Jayne sighed and shook her head, “don’t think so.”

 “You put any thought into who shot ya? Might find more answers down that road.” Doc Mitchell suggested.

 Jayne nodded slowly, it was her only real lead. If someone wanted her dead they had to have a reason, and maybe she’d find some clues about herself in the process. If nothing else she’d get the satisfaction of putting a bullet in the man who tried to kill her.

 Doc Mitchell stared at her expectantly. She sighed and shifted on her feet. “You know I don’t have any money to pay you for all of this.” She said gesturing her hands around.

Doc Mitchell rubbed his chin, “Tell ya what, you help out the people of Goodsprings and I’ll consider us even.”

 Jayne nodded, apprehension prickling in her spine. She didn’t want to waste her time doing chores for the locals but she didn’t like the feeling of leaving an unpaid debt behind her. Especially when her life was her credit. That left you wide open for when the collectors came calling.

 The sun was high in the sky when she left, she saw the telltale shimmer on the horizon that meant it was _really fucking hot._ Sweat already trickled down her neck as she picked her way over the ruined asphalt of the old road, the last thing she needed was a bullet hole _and_ a sprained ankle. Houses with faded wood paneling surrounded her, some in better condition than others. Large grazing animals with enormous horns stood behind flimsy fences. She passed two buildings along the main road, the Goodsprings General Store and the Prospector Saloon respectively.

 An old man in a rocking chair tipped his hat from the porch of the saloon as she passed.  “Evening.” He said and she bobbed her head in greeting. She knew she should go in and ask around for some information like Doc Mitchell suggested, but the road beyond it, and what sat at the end, had a stronger hold on her.

 The graveyard sat high atop a hill overlooking the small town. A tall water tower loomed at the end casting one long shadow over the scattering of graves. Some of the headstones were actually stone, carved long ago in a time when people could afford to waste the energy. Most of the newer graves were still pretty old, though one had a few dried wildflowers resting against the wooden marker. Only one grave was fresh.

 What kind of person had she been to earn a shallow grave and a head full of lead with nobody to mourn her?

 A chill ran through her despite the warm breeze tousling her hair. She edged closer to the mouth of the grave, a shallow pitiful thing really. She was halfway to feeling insulted, but remembered if it had been any deeper she’d likely still be in it. Jayne stepped down into the grave and eased herself onto her back.  She felt her warmth bleed into the cool soil beneath her. The earth itself seemed to want to swallow her, to take back the meal it had been cheated. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.

  _It was nighttime, a lone lantern cast flickering shadows across the the pile of dirt beside a shallow grave. Her grave. Dark brown eyes locked onto hers, but she was focused on the gun pointed at her face. His voice slipped past her ears; easy and smooth. She toppled forward a strange ache radiating out from the right side of her head._

 Jayne heard herself gasping.

  _The sky went black above her, she was choking, her lungs filling up with dirt, suffocating her, weighing her down. Did they know she wasn’t dead?_

 “If I’da known you’d be so eager to climb back into that grave, I might not’a gone to all the trouble of digging ya out in the first place.”

 Jayne bolted upright, her hand dropping to the old 9mm Doc Mitchell gave her. A securitron with a jumpy image of a cowboy on its screen stood at the end of the grave. “You must be Victor.” She said as she pulled herself to her feet.

 “In the flesh, so to speak.” He replied cheerily. Jayne eyed the flickering cowboy smiling at her and resisted pulling her gun on him, like her arm was itching to do. His voice was twangy and metallic, pronouncing words just wrong enough it grated on her ears. She guessed his programmer was a big fan of prewar flicks. She gritted back her irritation.

 “You didn’t happen to get a look at the asshole who shot me, did you?”

 Victor paused, and she heard a slight whirring. “Can’t say I did, it was pretty dark that night and my eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

 “Right.” Jayne said flatly. She stepped out of the grave and scrambled down the loose gravel on the hill towards town, eager to get distance between her and the weird robot. “Thanks for saving my life, see ya around.” She called over her shoulder. It was best to observe regular courtesies, lest he cut her open and wear her like some kind of skin suit so he could fulfill his lifelong dream of being a real boy.

 

* * *

 

Jayne was not a good person. She realized this as she watched a confrontation between some jackass and the proprietor of the saloon and the only thing she could think of was a stiff drink. A stiff drink and a shoulder rub. After spending the afternoon hunting geckos with the cheerful blonde and shooting the breeze with the locals she could fit all that she knew about her shooter into one sentence. He was a man in a checkered suit. Sunny Smiles -Jayne couldn’t believe it was her actual name, she’d laughed for a minute straight after the short woman said it aloud and spent the next thirty kissing her ass so she wouldn’t leave her to the geckos- suggested she speak to Trudy, who apparently hosted her attackers for a few hours that night.

 Jayne leaned on the bar and waited patiently for the two to stop arguing, she didn’t see the point of sticking her nose in it, it wasn’t her business. “What are you lookin’ at?” He snarled in her face before slipping out of the saloon. She changed her mind about her business immediately when he slammed his shoulder into hers as he passed by.

 Trudy’s face softened as she approached, “I was wondering when I’d get to meet you, you’ve been causing quite the stir around here. Welcome to the Prospector Saloon.”

 “What was all that?” Jayne asked nodding her head in the direction of the door.

 “Looks like our little town's got itself caught in the middle of something we want no part in. Joe Cobb and his gang have been hasslin’ us for weeks to turn over a man that goes by the name Ringo. He turned up a couple of weeks ago saying he’d been a victim of some kind of attack. Hold on,” she said leaning her head back, “You can come out now.” She said with just an edge of bitterness. She resented the man that would have her stand up for him while he hid away in the bathroom.

 He at least had enough shame to hang his head as he came around the corner. He wasn’t much to look at, pretty, but in a wholesome farm boy kind of way. The fact that he’d survived Joe Cobb and his crew the first time was a miracle. “I really appreciate you doing that for me Trudy.” He said. He turned to address Jayne. “I heard about you, good to see you up and around….” he trailed off expectantly.

 “Jayne.” She answered. “You looking to get those men off your ass?”

 “They weren’t much of a problem til now, I’d been staying up in the old gas station on the hill and I nipped down here to top off on supplies. He must’ve seen me.” Ringo said.

 “It’s only a matter of time before they raze the whole town looking for you.” Trudy added, her back was turned as she wiped down the bar counter but her shoulders were tense.

 “I could help you with that.” Jayne said. She’d be keeping her promise to Doc Mitchell to help out the town. If Joe Cobb’s gang were worth half their shit, they’d be after more than just blood. Goodsprings was off the beaten path, with tall mountains isolating them from the west. With the right crew someone could easily overtake the town and more importantly, they could _keep it_.

 Ringo sighed and rubbed the back of his head, “If it's just the two of us we’ll end up sharing the same grave.” Jayne stiffened involuntarily. If she were to die again she’d rather be left out than buried again. Let the crows have her. Ringo continued, “If we could get some of the others from town on board…” He glanced at Trudy’s tense shoulders hopefully.

 Sunny chimed in from where she’d been listening by the door, “So we making a plan or what?”

 

* * *

 

Jayne grinned across the table at Ringo. He frowned as his eyes darted between the cards she had on the table and the cards still in the deck. She took a gulp of her whiskey, courtesy of Ringo, and leaned back. “You’re cheating.” He said finally.

 “I am not.” She lied. “Having problems with your deck?” She asked swirling her glass.

 He cursed her under his breath. “Fine. You win.” He pushed the pile of caps in her direction and Jayne smiled victoriously.  Bit by bit her memory came back, so when Ringo asked her to sit down to a game of caravan and dozens of strategies pooled in the back of her brain she readily agreed. The more she did the more that came back to her, but memories of herself and her past were still as murky as well water. Every time she thought she knew something the memory would slither out of her grasp before she could get a firm hold on it. When she went round Doc’s to ask for medical supplies for the impending shoot out she mentioned it to him. _“Our brains have ways of protecting us from trauma, it’ll come back to you in time, and if not maybe you’re better off.”_ Jayne needed to know though, she was directionless. She needed to find out more about the man in the checkered suit.

 Ringo was staring at her and she shot him a sly glance. His ears reddened and he was suddenly very interested in drinking his sarsaparilla. She reveled in the effect she was having on him, it made her feel powerful. Chet, _the damn radroach_ , was unfortunately immune to her apparent charm, but he came around easily enough when she made thinly veiled threats that had Sunny mumbling behind her back the rest of the afternoon. After that Sunny did the talking, which was fine by Jayne. If the citizens of Goodsprings weren’t willing to defend themselves they deserved their fate. She wasn’t going to make headway with cowards anyway.

 The new leather armor fit Jayne well enough when she tightened the straps, but she was sweating like a pig. After cementing their plans into place and gathering and distributing the supplies they had no choice but to wait for Cobb and his men to come to them. She should have felt the tension and fear she read clearly on everyone else’s faces, but a quiet thrill settled into the pit of her stomach in anticipation.

 The door to the saloon slammed open and Sunny Smiles burst in, her trusty four legged companion hot on her heels. “Joe Cobb is back, and he’s brought reinforcements.” She said half breathless.

 Jayne and Ringo shot to their feet and followed Sunny out of the saloon. At least half the town was already outside with weapons drawn. Jayne crouched down behind one of the stacks of crates set in the road to be used as cover. Sunny passed the binoculars to Jayne and she spied the group of men approaching from the south. The were outfitted in ramshackle armor and prison rags, but she spied the red tubes on several of the men’s belts as they walked. Fuck.

 The tension that followed was thick enough to choke off all sound, it was just them, and the impassable distance that separated the two sides. Sunny fired first, her long rifle sounding off with a crack that pierced the air. Jayne started firing too even though most of the men were still too far away for her measly 9mm to hit. She ducked back behind the crate as a bullet whizzed by her head, her heart thudding in her ears.

 “Lookout!” Someone screamed followed by a deafening explosion to Jayne’s right. Dust and debri rained down on them. Jayne poked her head over the crates and her heart stopped.

 She knocked Sunny’s rifle down, “Stop firing!” She ordered.

 “What _why_?!” Sunny demanded as Jayne vaulted over the crates.

 She wove through the Goodspringers firing and taking cover. Bullets whizzed by her as she ran, gun stretched outward. She squeezed the trigger and the man’s hand exploded into a cloud of red mist dropping the dynamite at his feet. She scooped it up as she ran past him, sparks from the fuse brushing her fingers. She hurled it into a group of Cobb’s men taking cover behind a truck with devastating accuracy. The explosion rocked the truck and Jayne heard the cries of dying men. Her leg stung as a bullet grazed her splitting open the leather and the flesh underneath. She popped up and fired her gun in succession three times dropping as many bodies.

 She rolled behind the propane tank to her left as the firing died down. There was a few more shots that followed from her side and then silence. Well, not completely. The man whose hand she shot was groaning and writhing on the road. She stood and walked over to him crouching at his side. He glared spitting venom at her but she ignored him. She picked up the hat that fell off his head,  it was a beauty; pitch black felt with thin leather cords wrapped around the crown, thankfully unmarred despite Sunny not listening to her order not to shoot. She placed it on her head. It felt right. She stood and fired her gun into his head splattering her boots with fresh blood and brain matter.

 A bit of flesh dripped off the brim of the hat onto her cheek and she plucked it off flicking it from her fingers. She turned to see Ringo Sunny and a few other Goodspringers watching her. Ringo’s mouth hung open and Sunny’s gaze had a darker look, searching her.

 “What?” Jayne asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @mojavewastelander for progress updates and artwork of my characters.


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